


This is a Zombie Apocalypse, Bitch (City of Lights)

by friendlyghost



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/F, Femslash February, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyghost/pseuds/friendlyghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You won’t live long, fighting like that.”</p><p>Octavia turns from where she is standing over the zombie’s corpse, beaten and bloody but not infected. “Oh yeah? We’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, bitch. You think you’re gonna live any longer?”</p><p>--</p><p>Or, the one where it's a zombie apocalypse, and Indra and Octavia fall in love. Written for Day 2 of The 100 <a href="http://the-100-femslash.tumblr.com/post/109795013900/do-you-write-fics-do-you-love-the-100-are-you-a">Femslash February Challenge</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a Zombie Apocalypse, Bitch (City of Lights)

**Author's Note:**

> A head's up: even though this is a zombie apocalypse AU, there's literally no gore except for a corpse at the beginning. There is, however, mentions of a character committing suicide off-screen. Please contact me if you want additional warnings or details!

“You won’t live long, fighting like that.”

Octavia turns from where she is standing over the zombie’s corpse, beaten and bloody but not infected. “Oh yeah? We’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, bitch. You think you’re gonna live any longer?” She turns to face the source of the voice. It’s an older woman, dark skinned and tattooed, with harsh cuts above her eye and on her cheek and chin. They’re recent, but Octavia can tell that they’ll scar. Abby managed to teach her that much, at least, before she got zombified and died.

“There’s no skill to your attacks. You’re like a kitten—you try hard, but everything you do is utterly ineffective,” the woman says.

“I killed that one, didn’t I?” Octavia asks, pointing at the corpse. It was once an elderly man, and even the virus wasn’t enough to overcome the limits imposed by age.

“It was slow and weak. You got lucky. The next one could be younger, faster, stronger. You’d be dead in minutes,” the woman points out.

“So teach me,” Octavia says.

“Are you not traveling with anyone else?” the woman asks.

“I was,” Octavia says, shrugging. “A woman looking for her daughter. She was a doctor, taught me a few things before she got infected and zombified.”

The woman nods. “Did you kill her?”

“She did the job for me,” Octavia says.

The woman looks Octavia up and down, head to toes to head again. She nods decisively.

“My name is Indra. I have shelter over that way,” the woman—Indra—says, jerking her head to the left. “Burn the body and grab whatever you have. We should be safe there for the night, at least.”

\--

That night, Indra shows Octavia how to throw a punch and how to block one, the best way to gouge out an opponent’s eyes and a trick to keep her hands steady while shooting a gun. In return, Octavia cleans the harsh cuts on Indra’s face and teaches her how to fix a dislocated shoulder. They eat canned food over a fire. Octavia doesn’t talk about Bellamy or Abby and Indra doesn’t talk about whoever is in her past. Octavia tells Indra her name when the other woman calls her “Kitten”. Indra continues calling her Kitten anyways.

\--

The next morning, they pack up camp and Octavia tells Indra about the City of Lights, a shantytown filled with the survivors and the immune.

“Where is it?” Indra asks.

“Washington. Near the coast, or at least that’s what I’ve heard,” Octavia says.

“That’s a long way from here. It’ll take us at least three monthes to get there, if we’re not killed first,” Indra says.

Octavia smirks. “You think you can put up with me for that long?”

“Kitten, if you learn to defend yourself, I will happily put up with you for as long as I have to,” Indra says. Octavia pretends that the word ‘Kitten’ doesn’t cause a warm flutter in her belly. 

\--

They travel together for some time. A routine develops: the travel as far north as they can during the day, killing zombies and gathering supplies (Octavia refuses to call it looting, although that’s technically what it is) and teaching each other how to fight and heal. They survive, but not easily. Finding food is always difficult, especially if other survivors or zombies have gotten there first. They take coats, new clothes, whatever toiletries (pads, tampons, deodorant, toothpaste) they can find, and anything else Indra says is both necessary and portable. Sometimes Octavia sneaks ‘luxuries' into her bag—a box of Chips Ahoy, a few bars of Dove soap—and Indra yells but grudgingly uses the soap to wash herself and her clothes, eats the Chips Ahoy (but always give Octavia the larger share).

Every night, Octavia redresses the wounds on Indra’s face. They heal more and more every day, slowly turning into webbed scars. Octavia treasures every moment she gets of close contact with Indra, every moment carefully caring for her wounds, running her thumb across Indra’s brow. She has to stop, eventually—there’s no more excuse once Indra’s injuries are healed. 

The night that marks three weeks of travel together, though—that night is both Octavia’s most favorite and most hated.

Indra finds a stream that widens into a pool, calm and clear and no zombies in sight. Octavia only looks at Indra long enough to receive a nod of permission before practically flying out of her clothes and leaping into the pool. The water is so, so cold. Like, infinitely cold. But it’s worth it to be able to swim and wash away all the dust and dirt and sweat that’s built up over the past weeks. She shrieks, both from the temperature of the water and out of sheer joy, and swim-flails around in the water, carefully combing all the knots and matts out of her hair before she begins to tread water and look toward the shore.

It’s then that Octavia notices the way that Indra is looking at her.

She is twenty years old, and she’s been around the block more than a few times. She knows what desire looks like on someone’s face, knows what it means that Indra’s eyes have darkened and are following the paths of water droplets as they move down Octavia’s face and neck and chest to the top of her breasts. 

Octavia wants Indra, has wanted her since the day she saw her—and Indra wants her back. Right now, emotions aren’t factoring into the equation—Octavia cares more for Indra than she should when either of them could die at any given moment, but she doesn’t know if Indra cares for her the same way. That’s okay. It might even be easier to bear, if one of them dies.

She moves towards the shore slowly. She’s naked, and her body slowly becomes more and more visible as she steps out of the water. She doesn’t care. If Indra wants to look, then let her. She walks out of the water fully, making eye contact with Indra and not breaking it. She wonders how she looks from Indra’s perspective: completely naked, soaking wet, water droplets rolling down her body, over her breasts and down her belly. 

She only stops walking once she’s standing a few inches away from Indra’s body, afraid to reach out and touch. The moment feels oddly fragile, like holding a glass figurine: squeeze too hard, and it’ll shatter and your hands will be covered in small cuts besides. 

Octavia lifts a hand slowly, not wanting to get Indra’s clothing wet. She reaches up to rub a thumb over Indra’s cheekbone, cup a hand behind her head, in her close-cropped hair. She tilts her head and angles closer, almost reaches Indra’s mouth before the other woman says, “Octavia, wait.”

It’s the first time she’s used Octavia’s actual name. She freezes in place, a short distance from Indra’s mouth.

“Kitten, you’re twenty years old. I’m fifteen years older than you, and I know this isn’t a simple situation, but are you sure this is what you want?”

A hand is tightening around the glass figurine.

“When have I ever struck you as unsure of anything?” Octavia asks. She’s still poised to kiss Indra, face still upturned to make up for the slight height difference. She can feel Indra’s breath on her lips.

“Never. But I want you to be sure that you’re not making a mistake,” Indra says. Octavia pulls away abruptly and walks over to her clothes, wringing out her hair before she gets dressed.

Indra builds a fire at their campsite instead of following Octavia. Later that night, after they’ve eaten even more canned food and Octavia hasn’t said a word for several hours, Indra says, “Kitten, I’ll tell you what. Once we reach the City of Lights, we can try and figure out whatever this is, alright? But not before. Not until we’re both safe.”

“I hate literally every single word you just said,” Octavia says.

“Would you rather wait or start something now and risk heartbreak when one of us inevitably gets killed or turned into a zombie?” Indra asks.

“I would rather have something now than die without ever having kissed you!” Octavia says.

Indra looks furious for a moment, lips pressed together hard. “I’m not interested in just a quick bit of post-apocalyptic sex, you know.”

“So we’re on the same page, then,” Octavia says flatly. She stands up and drags her sleeping bag over to the fire, wiggling inside before turning away from Indra. 

When Octavia is woken up to take the second watch, neither of them speak at all.

\--

They reach the City of Lights in another two months—traveling near a highway so they can tell when they’ve passed the Oregon-Washington border, heading west towards the coast and zigzagging inland and outland from there. Coming across zombies is a lot less common now. Rural Washington has a low population to begin with, so that’s most likely part of it, but Octavia is hoping that part of it’s because the virus is slowing down and dying off or people are getting cured.

The city itself is more impressive than Octavia was expecting. It’s large, with a makeshift wall of logs built around the circumference. True to its name, there are electric lights inside, creating a soothing, static glow around the whole clearing. It’s the best thing Octavia has ever seen.

The guard at the gate has bulging eyes and an oddly flat face. He asks their names and how recently they’ve come into contact with an infected person. He raises an eyebrow when Octavia says her name.

“You’re not Bellamy Blake’s litter sister by any chance, are you?” he asks.

“Bellamy’s here?” Octavia demands. She hadn’t even known he was alive, had assumed he was dead or infected or both.

“Yeah, the asshole’s running this place,” the guard says. “He’s probably at the large metal building in the back of the city. When you get back there, fill out the Books with a page for yourself, and any others for people that you’re looking for or that you know have died."

As they walk into the city, Octavia notices that Indra is looking at her strangely.

“You never said you were looking for your brother,” she says.

“I wasn’t looking for him,” Octavia replies. "I didn’t even know whether or not he was alive until now.” She and Indra have barely spoken for the past eight weeks, and their co-training—Octavia learning to fight and Indra learning to heal—is filled with an obvious undercurrent of tension. Octavia has hated every minute of it.

Indra hmms and walks deeper into the city. It’s surprisingly clean, and pretty much everyone is living under lean-tos or in tents. There’s only one true building—the metal one the guard told them about. The metal one that Bellamy is inside. 

There’s a woman about Octavia’s age sitting on a folding chair outside the building. She’s fiddling with a small hand-held radio. 

“Hi,” Octavia says. She suddenly feels very very nervous. “Is Bellamy here?”

“He’s on patrol right now,” the woman says. “Who’s asking?”

“His sister,” Octavia replies.

“Oh jeez, you’re Octavia?” the woman says. “He’s probably told the whole city about you. Here, I’ll let you inside and you two can fill out the Books while you’re waiting for him to come back.” She stands up, setting the radio down on the chair, and opens the door.

Inside, the meaning of 'the Books’ becomes immediately clear—there are dozens of binders along the far wall, one row labeled ‘Missing”, another ‘Dead’, and a third, smaller one, ‘Alive’. Each binder has a letter or letters written on the side. Below the shelves is a table with pens and an instruction sheet. Octavia reads it carefully before reaching for the ‘Missing’ binder with a 'Gr’ label.

She finds the page labeled Abby Griffin and pulls it out. Writes, “FOUND. Deceased: Got infected while searching for her daughter, and committed suicide before the virus fully took her,” and places the page in the correct ‘Dead’ binder before reshelving both. Beside her, Indra is filling out a few pages of her own. Octavia looks through the ‘Bl’ Missing binder and finds the page for her own name. She fills it out and is reaching for the ‘Gr’ Alive binder—simply out of curiosity, to see if Abby’s daughter made it here—when a familiar voice says her name.

Octavia’s not sure who reaches who first—all she knows is that it’s been god knows how long and she’s finally hugging her big brother again.

\--

They take the next month to settle in. Octavia and Bellamy follow each other around for two weeks, giving in to overprotectiveness and worry. Octavia learns pretty much everything about how the City of Lights is run in the process. She also meets Abby’s daughter. Clarke is pretty and blonde and leads the city alongside Bellamy. She’s smart and powerful and so much like Abby that it almost hurts, but Octavia is glad that she’s here to keep Bellamy safe and sane. 

Octavia hardly sees Indra during that month. Sure, they run into each other on occasion, but it’s nothing like the three months they spent traveling through the wilderness of the post-zombie apocalypse West Coast together. She can’t stop thinking about what Indra said, that when they reached the City of Lights they could try being something.

Well, they’re here. They’ve been here for a month. And Octavia’s never been one to give up on what she wants.

\--

Octavia makes her move on a quiet night, one where there are no zombies around and Bellamy and Clarke are off doing important leader things. Indra’s chosen to set up a tent on the far side of the city, nowhere near the metal building that serves as a makeshift town hall.

She asks permission to enter, and Indra grants it. 

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. 

“I know this can’t be like a normal relationship, since it’s not like there’s anything to do for a date around here,” Octavia says. “But that doesn’t change anything, for me! I don’t care that you’re however much older than me. I don’t care that either of us could get infected or killed or both at any given moment. This isn’t whatever life was before, Indra. This is now.”

Indra looks at Octavia, the same way she looked at her on that very first day. 

“You’re sure about this, aren’t you,” she says. Octavia glares in return.

Indra adjusts her position so that she’s sitting on her calves instead of with her legs crossed. “C’mere, Kitten.”

Octavia walks closer, drops to her knees so that she’s in the same position as Indra. She reaches out slowly, swipes her thumb over the scar on Indra’s chin.

Indra leans forward and closes the gap between you, kissing Octavia in a way that’s simultaneously gentle and the most powerful force Octavia’s ever felt.

“There we go, Kitten,” she says when they break apart. “There we go."

\--


End file.
